


The One

by Malind



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Father/Son Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:51:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9453050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: Elves have only one true love. Or so they say.





	

"Stand up now," the king growled, irritated, glaring down at his heavily breathing son who just laid there while glaring up at the sky and refusing to move for nearly a minute so far. 

It certainly wasn't the first time Legolas had been taken to the ground that early morning, but it was the first time he didn't stand right back up. Thranduil could see the weariness in his son's eyes, the humiliation at being overcome and finding a home for his backside on the forest floor over and over again. But he could also tell that the refusal to get back up was a mental one, not a physical one. And if a person was to survive battle, the mind had to outlast the body.

The elvenking pointed his sword to the downed elf's chest as a genuine anger in him grew. Just over one-hundred-ten years old, the youth had no idea about the harshness of true battle. If he had, Thranduil wouldn't have seen the arrogance in his son's eyes as Legolas did nothing to deflect what could have been a killing thrust. Gritting his teeth, Thranduil was well on his way to have enough 'family time' himself. 

Thranduil tried baiting with, "Do you wish to die, iônneg?" The younger elf gritted his teeth then, his breaths growing heavier, his gaze never wavering. "All of these months of training with the finest of this kingdom, and this your best? My confidence in my captain of the guard has deteriorated severely." His head tilted to the side. "Or are you able to provide me with another reason for your sorry state?"

At the final words, Legolas finally jerked his gaze away to look to the side away from him. Completely stilling the king, Thranduil noticed the shininess of his son's blue eyes. Tears? He gripped his sword tighter as the sight restricted his breathing. Had his son seen battle that day, Legolas most likely wouldn't have survived it.

Losing all patience, again, he commanded, "Stand up!"

He pressed the sword so that it pushed against the younger elf and the scaled armor at his chest. Even that couldn't get a deflection out of Legolas though. So, he rose the sword to the youth's neck. His heir tilted his head to the side, more or less offered himself up. The sword pressed against the tender flesh. 

Suddenly asking whether or not Legolas wanted to die seemed like a poor question since Thranduil now wondered if it was true.

Decades earlier, at a time before his wife's death, their son had had a happiness, a confidence, a grace, and a smile that had made all the elves of the realm love him. Now... 

Now, the life seemed to have drained out of his beautiful son. Much as it'd done from the king's own body. But even so, Thranduil still wouldn't have allowed himself to be killed in battle, not without a tremendous fight. After all, he still had someone to fight for, never mind his whole kingdom and all the precious things it possessed.

Thranduil withdrew the blade, and thrust the point into the ground. Gripping the hilt still, he knelt next to Legolas, ready to grab him by his armor and haul him back up to his feet. But when his hand gripped, the whole of his son's body tensed. His hand held for a moment, but then he relaxed it and let it lay over Legolas' heart. He couldn't feel it, but it could see its fast pace in the flushness of his prince's skin.

His hand drifted upwards to his son's cheek, feeling the heat there, even as Legolas' eyes clenched shut. The sight did nothing to normalize the king's breathing. He pushed his hand to the back of his son's head, weaving the fingers through his hair, getting a good grip, and forced the head to point in his direction. 

"Legolas," he growled, trying to get him to look at him, unable stand the sight of his son's pain. 

It took a few moments and a bit of tensing of his hand before those stunning eyes relented and opened to give him something close to a glare but couldn't completely with the misery still there. The regret that filled the king at that look made him feel faint. 

Clearly, he was pushing too hard, too fast on a youth that still had barely worked through his mother's death. If he ever could work through it. After all, Thranduil still couldn't accomplish that himself.

...And perhaps he was missing something that should have been obvious when his son's starlight filled eyes searched his face. The begging look... It twisted the older elf's gut.

Then Legolas was pushing himself up. Thranduil let go of his grip and began to stand, but Legolas was faster. His son grabbed his much larger torso and held him as if his life depended on it. Stunned at the unbridled affection for a moment, he could do nothing. His son hadn't hugged him like this for far too many decades. 

Until that moment, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. He dropped completely to his knees, letting go of the sword, and hugged the young elf back who so clearly needed it.

Legolas' head pressed into the crook of his neck, wetting his skin with tears. "Forgive me, ada. I... Something is wrong with me." 

Thranduil held his child tighter, hushing him which only managed to bring a sob out of the younger elf. 

"You..." His son's hands gripped his coat harshly, pulling him closer. He wouldn't have been able to pull away without a fight.

"Iônneg, tell me," he whispered, running his hand through Legolas' shoulder length hair, ignoring the glances from the other training elves. "What troubles you?" 

It seemed like a foolish question to ask, considering the pain he could see in his son every day since Thranduil had told him of his mother's death. But he also couldn't assume he knew his son's heart and mind, since he'd obviously misjudged them that day.

Legolas stilled, although his grip never slackened. And then Thranduil felt something he'd never thought he'd experience from his son in his arms. It was a brushing of lips on his neck were his open collar exposed his pale flesh. His body tensed, his mind sure his senses were playing tricks on him. The touch hadn't been a childish, obliging kiss a child would have given while not-so-secretly wanting to be anywhere else. This caress was completely willing, heated with hot breath that sent heat through his willing body and unwilling mind.

The king tried to pull away to see his son's face to confirm what he was experiencing, since he still couldn't believe it, but their bodies stayed pressed together with prince holding him so close.

Then, almost so quietly that he couldn't hear, Legolas asked, "Would you hate me if I wanted you to be..."

The raw emotion that cracked his son's voice, he almost couldn't bear it. When it was only their heavy breaths for several moments, he urged with, "To be what?"

Legolas swallowed. "To be the one I love."

Thranduil didn't know how to take the words, not with some rational part of him scolding him for even thinking about them. 

Against his will, previously, he'd admittedly had similar thoughts about his son. But they had only been passing things he'd accounted to the loss of his wife and the bitter loneliness that came with it. Legolas reminded him so much of his mother, almost as much as the youth reminded him of himself. And he and his son had been so close before her death, almost inseparable when duty hadn't pulled the older elf elsewhere. 

But surely just missing Legolas in far too many ways, missing what they'd had together, was the cause of his current indecisiveness. At least, he wished it was.

Then, as Legolas pulled away from the king's slackened grip, looking up into his eyes, Thranduil realized he had to make a decision at that moment. A parental one, if he was to keep any illusion of sensibility in face of the numerous stares he could feel.

But instead of making one, he stood and grabbed Legolas' upper arm, pulling him to his feet, ignoring the petrified look on his prince's face as if worried he'd said the wrong thing, a horribly wrong thing at that.

What was worse than the look was the sudden strong belief that what Legolas had said hadn't been horribly wrong, as well as the feeling of pleasure that grew that shouldn't have been there as the words finally stole what was left of his broken heart, claiming it for his child's own. All of that happened with that look, even while morality and decency told him no.

Yanking his sword out of the ground, he then dragged his son back to the halls. He only let go when Legolas willingly followed, even if it was a few steps behind. As long as he was following. 

When they reached the lounging room where he used to share drinks and conversation with their closest friends, the place seeming neutral enough but safe from prying eyes, Thranduil turned to face his son. Legolas only held the gaze for a short while before he looked away to the floor, his face as close to tears as ever.

"Forgive me, adar," Legolas whispered, his face pale, almost sickly. "I let my heart overcome my mind."

Thranduil could only stare at this creature who'd always had claim over his very soul. He'd never been more unable to act in his life. He'd been raised to make the best decisions for his kingdom's well-being and calculate the necessary orders to protect it. He'd been trained in the atrocities of warfare, including when to take a life and when to spare it.

But he'd had little training on how to raise his son, his own father barely a father to him. He wished with everything in him that he'd known what to do at that moment.

The longer he stared though, the more the words sunk in, and the more he realized the implications of them. Legolas, he... He couldn't have...

Trying to keep the defenselessness eroding his mind out of his voice, he asked, "Have you already given your heart to me?"

Legolas only pressed his lips together, his eyes never raising. 

It couldn't be true. When had it happened and how was it even remotely possible that he hadn't noticed? He thought back, trying to remember every interaction with his son, every word, every gesture. But everything his son had done even in recent years could have been taken in numerous ways. No, he'd had no real hope of realizing the depths of their relationship had achieved without him even noticing.

And his son was an elf. If Legolas had given him his heart, he would never love another. There would be no hope for Legolas' future, if true. 

His beloved son couldn't spend the rest of his immortal life longing for someone he couldn't have.

"Legolas..." He took a step forward, drawing his son's gaze upwards. "Tell me now, if you have."

Blue eyes stared back at him for several agonizing seconds, but then, color rising to his cheeks, Legolas said, "Yes, I have."

His own heart deserved to be destroyed for the heat those words created. Thranduil couldn't help the shaking of his head. His foolish, apparently love-sick child had... 

The king wanted to order his heir to have reason, to take it back, but there was so reasoning with an elf's heart. He wanted to order his own heart to be still. But any hope for that failed, when, against his better judgement, he stalked forward, closing the short distance between them, and took hold of Legolas' face, forcing him to lift his head.

"You fool. How could you..." 

The words faded when Legolas looked near tears again. The kind's love and desire overtook his senses. Bending down, he brushed his lips over his son's. The whole of the youth's posture softening in obvious submission and desire, Legolas immediately moaned weakly through slightly open lips. The welcoming of his son's body only urged him on as Thranduil claimed the mouth more fully, deepening the kiss, leaving the king wishing he'd taken his son to his bedchamber instead.

Then Legolas was pressing against him, grinding with a clear desire that young elves knew so readily. The king fared little better against it.

Breaking away, Legolas breathed, looking him in the eyes, "I want you to claim me."

The words sent a charge through his irrational body. If he did that, there would be no turning back. Legolas would be bound to him for the rest of his life.

"Do you understand what you ask, iônneg?"

How could he understand? Well, then again, Legolas was already past the age most elves married, a commitment that bound them for life to the one they loved. He hadn't thought so much on Legolas' lack of a partner before, hopelessly dwelling on his loss of his wife while trying to rule a kingdom and son at the same time. But could the reason Legolas had never found a lover be because of the love he had for his own father?

"I understand, adar. I want it. I want you to be mine. For so long, I wanted that. I will never want another." His son had never sounded more convinced and open about his words since he'd been very young.

His heart pounding, untamed, he kissed Legolas again briefly, before looking into his eyes. 

It was strongly held that an elf's heart could only truly love one person. He'd always believe that to be true after falling in love with his wife. But looking down at his son now, he knew that couldn't be true. He loved his son more than anything, as much as he loved her, although the day before it had been a more restrained love. Now...

After another soft kiss that turned possessive and left both of them panting for breath, he murmured, "If I claim you, you will always be mine from that moment on, just as I will be yours. You understand that?"

Blue eyes dark with desire gazing up at him, Legolas nodded. Then Thranduil grabbed his son's hand and led him from the room to his bedchamber, the same place he'd taken the prince's mother. After closing the door, he turned and began to remove his son's clothing, starting with a coat protectively laced with chainmail for their practice outside. 

That dropped to the floor with an audible cluck, making the younger elf jump slightly before he huffed a nervous laugh. Thranduil smiled, unable to help it, kissing his jaw. Legolas tilted his head up. 

"Be calm, iônneg. Trust me to never hurt you." Legolas made a weak noise, his face crinkling up. Thranduil couldn't help but notice the look and asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing."

The king gripped his heated cheeks again. "Never lie to me, Legolas. Especially now."

Legolas swallowed and gripped at his father's coat. "You have hurt me, adar."

The words took him back, but considering he didn't know how long his son had harbored these feelings for him, as well as the decades of distance between them, he couldn't doubt their truthfulness. His heart aching at the idea, he murmured, "Forgive me then."

After a moment, his son nodded and then pulled at the grip he now had on his clothing, urging him into another kiss.

Losing himself in it, Thranduil blindly worked at Legolas' shirt, slipping that off with Legolas yanking his arms out of the sleeves before working on Thranduil's own clothing. His broach hit the floor, then his coat. Hurried hand yanked up on his shirt, and he pulled away from their kiss, pulling it the rest of the way over his head. 

Both of them in only pants and boots, he reveled in the softness and heat of his son's skin. Legolas did the same, his hands tangling in the length of his hair, pulling on it, creating delicious tension. Legolas grinding his already hard length against Thranduil's thigh, the king couldn't help his own heated growl at his son's fervent desire. To be that young... He didn't truly remember it anymore, but his body seemed to, as his own length hardened. He pressed against the shorter elf's stomach for only a moment before he'd wanted far more. 

Thranduil forced himself out of Legolas' eager grip and pulled him to the bed. "Lay down."

Legolas had no hesitance in it and, in fact, practically tore off the rest of his clothing when seated. Then he scooted up fully and laid down, his panting body offered up so beautifully that Thranduil almost couldn't pull his gaze away. But he did manage it and walked to a dresser, put his tiara on it, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small flask of oil he infrequently used on himself when the urge hit.

When he walked back to the bed, Legolas wouldn't take his gaze from him, which only served to keep the king hard.

Smiling at his son's utter lack of hesitance, Thranduil asked, "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

"Yes."

"And how do you know these things?"

Legolas pressed his lips together, his eyes on his king's groin. "People talk. And I do have an imagination."

That brought a full smile onto the king's lips. "Do you? Did you often think of me in that way?" He couldn't deny that the idea brought him pleasure. Nor could he deny that, in his darker, lustful moments, he'd thought of his son in such ways.

Blue eyes darted up to meet his own, his mouth open but no words came out. 

His smile lessened in his curiosity and craving for a response. "Answer me."

"I thought of you in me, tasting me..." Legolas' erection took that moment to twitch, as if inviting just that. "Making me call out."

"I plan to do just that."

Legolas groaned at the words, his hand gripping his own length. 

Before he could stroke it though, Thranduil ordered, "Turn over onto your stomach. It will be better for you."

There was only a slight hesitation before his son did just that, burying his face between his arms, his hips taking to grinding slightly at the mattress. Watching his cheeks contract with the slight movements did nothing to help Thranduil's resolve to take this slowly for his son. 

The younger elf was so eager that Thranduil felt a pang of guilt for not noticing his son's desire sooner. How long had Legolas been suffering with his love and inability to express it? If they hadn't been together that day, how much longer would it have gone on? The thoughts softened his erection a bit, but he nonetheless put the vial on the bed, stripped off his remaining clothing, palmed the vial, and laid down at Legolas' side whose pumping had become more obvious. 

One arm bend to rest his head on the hand that held the oil, Thranduil stilled his heir with his other hand on his hip. Then his hesitant hand went lower, as if afraid the world might burn up with the touch. His son's skin was so hot, so delicious looking. 

And this was his son, a child he'd conceived and raised. And he was his father, someone the young elf was supposed to trust.

The king stopped his hand before it could completely cup a cheek. Legolas' eyes opened at the hesitance, looking up at him. When they caught sight of his face, apparently seeing more than Thranduil had intended, the prince started to come up on his elbows. Hushing him, he stopped any possible words, but then, his hand gripping the flesh, making Legolas' breath hitch

Thranduil then asked hesitantly, "Are you sure about this, iônneg? You can change your mind. Nothing has been done that cannot be undone."

"Do you truly believe that?" When the king didn't respond, he whispered, "I want you, adar. I have for so long. How I survived until this moment, I cannot even be sure."

Thranduil met his son's eyes and swallowed at what he saw there, the love and desire that would have burned alive a mere mortal. It felt scalding to him, painfully so. His hand drifted, seemingly of its own accord down the length of his son's crack, finding his entrance, circling it lightly, bringing the younger elf to gasp and shudder.

"Are you sure?"

"Please, ada." His hips pushed back against the finger. "I will never love another."

"Nor will I," he said before he kissed his son's shoulder. 

Sitting back up, he then shifted around, urging Legolas' legs open with his hands, and settled between them. He could now easily see his tight hole. And if his breathy moans, tightened sack, and pumping hips were any indication, the younger elf wouldn't last long. 

To get him to slow down, Thranduil said, "Up on your knees."

It took a few moments, but soon enough, Legolas forced himself up on knees, his panting just that much harsher. "Please, ada..."

Propped up and so generously offered, the king couldn't resist. He leaned forward and licked the hole, making the prince gasp, his hips rocking. Thranduil dropped the vail, gripped his son's hips, and licked, tasting him, wetting the area thoroughly as Legolas moaned incoherently at the sensations to the sensitive ring. He tasted of sweat from their training and vaguely of the soap he'd used just a couple of hours before.

When his prince only begged for more, he withdrew, poured some oil onto his fingers, and then slid a finger in the already wet hole without much resistance. Legolas rocked his hips at it, his breathing coming up harshly, hardening Thranduil's length to a point that was almost painful with the desire to full his son with his cock and seed.

Instead, he reached between Legolas' legs and pulled down gently on his sack, trying to stall the orgasm that was obviously building up, before he caressed it, adding another finger and pumping with a most-likely agonizing slowness if Legolas' groans were any indication.

"Please, ada, claim me now," his son soon practically sobbed in his urgency.

There were words he couldn't resist, not when they came from his beloved. He slicked up his erection with the remaining oil, then added a bit more, pumping it, getting it all that much harder in his anticipation. He used one hand to hold his son open and steady. His other, he guided himself to a hole that seemed far too small to fit into. But he knew the workings of an elf's body. If his son was willing, it would go in and surely would be gripped with a tightness he had only fantasized about before that moment.

Thranduil pressed against his well-oiled son and then hissed at a tightness he couldn't have imagined. Just the tip inside, he stopped, not ready to move, lest he spill himself already. His prince's hips pushed back, forcing in more, both gasping. 

Hard hands gripped Legolas' hips, he steadied him as they stalled, riding the moment out. Then he pushed in more and more at a steady pace, making sure his son adjusted, not wanting to cause him any pain his first time. While surely the younger elf felt the burn of it, he only ever rocked his hips, trying to encourage a faster claiming.

That combined with the arousing noises and whispers coming from Legolas' lips, the larger elf couldn't hold himself back any longer. He rocked steadily in and out, watching his son willingly take him inside over and over again, the hot tightness of him far too pleasurable. 

Legolas took to whimpering with his thrusts, his hips shifting while trying to gain some friction on his wobbling, neglected length. Thranduil had mercy, reaching around, and stroking the length to match his thrusts. His own moans and heavy breaths matched Legolas'. The body in front of him writhed and he scraped his fingers over his son's back, feeling the wetness of his sweat, adoring the red lines left in the wake. The smell of him saw so intoxicating and distinctly male. The scent of sex only added to it.

Soon, Legolas was calling out at each thrust into his body and at his own cock. Thranduil released it without mercy, Legolas letting out an aggravated groan, having been so close. 

The king demanded, "Hold yourself back. I want to taste you."

Then he finished himself, pumping with a harshness that had his son's body knocking forward, audible slaps filling the air. The younger elf called out with each one, until Thranduil came deep inside of his body. He called out his son's name, not caring who might have heard him. He wanted everyone in his kingdom to know who this elf belonged to.

Spent, after nearly a minute of stillness, he pulled out slowly, Legolas hissing through it, and sat back on his heels. He pressed a finger inside of him again, feeling the wetness, the heat, loving his son all the more for taking it so willingly.

Then he said softly, "Turn over."

On wobbly legs, Legolas managed with some assistance. When his son was on his back, Thranduil immediately shifted forward and took the hard, dribbling length into his mouth, sucking the pre-cum out of it, drawing a startled cry from the prince. He lived in it and set a pace that would give the younger elf what he desired, bringing the generous size of his cock to the back of his throat again and again. Quickly, Legolas was calling out, "Ada" and "Please," over and over again while thrusting at his face, his hands entwining into his long hair that pooled around him and over his belly.

Soon, too soon, Legolas came hard into his mouth, his body arching, his beautiful voice crying out for him, his grip on his hair harsh and forceful, but, as Thranduil swallowed every drop, he couldn't mind that, not with his son so stunning and delicious in his release. It all made him want to take the prince again and again. 

And with them not leaving the bed, later that morning he did, spooning him from behind slowly, with his legs over his shoulders and thrusting hard, and any other way the prince was will to bend. All the while, he whispered and called out his love and devotion to him alone. And Legolas did the same.


End file.
